


le gouverneur

by Ealasaid



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Butt Plugs, M/M, Orgasm Denial, PWP, Prompt Fill, Smut, Studying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 19:24:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ealasaid/pseuds/Ealasaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "...I now seriously want to read Enjolras studying his political history while, er, filled with something (placed there by Combeferre or Grantaire? Or anyone telling him to "loosen up," really. Or maybe he just wanted to masturbate and this is his actual introduction to the subject and the association will forever make him politically interested?!)."</p>
            </blockquote>





	le gouverneur

**Author's Note:**

> LIVEJOURNAL WILL NOT PERMIT ME TO POST THE LAST FIVE PARAGRAPHS ALL ENTRIES ARE MARKED AS SPAM I AM READY TO THROW THINGS AT PEOPLE. OP I hope you find this.

“Enjolraaaaaaas,” Grantaire whined from the kitchen.

“It’s _important_ ,” Enjolras yelled back, eyes firmly glued to his book. It was not that Enjolras was particularly moved by the subject matter—while Cicero had many fantastic political speeches in his long career, the _Verrine Orations_ were rather one-track. He’d been at it for hours, half-bent over the couch arm amidst a sprawl of many, many papers and packets. The goal was to have a moderately readable paper on the economic disasters a bad governor could create in the Late Roman Republic by noon the next day, and it was already five in the afternoon.

“If you haven’t done it now, why do anything until tomorrow morning?” Grantaire asked, appearing in the doorway wiping his hands off with a dishtowel. “You’ve been procrastinating this long, and you’ve already done like seven hours of research on this thing.”

“I need more material appropriate to citations and we’re limited to this work of Cicero’s,” Enjolras murmured, turning another page. Cicero’s continued accusations of piracy were starting to give Enjolras visions of a stone-faced Roman in a toga and a massive feathered hat.

“You’ve been through four cups of coffee,” Grantaire continued as though he hadn’t heard, “and you wanted a fresh pot and that’s the only reason you ate food, because I hid the coffeemaker until you ate some leftovers. So you should probably use another break since that was three hours ago.”

“This is important,” Enjolras said automatically, skimming through another accusation of collusion with pirates. “This paper is the midterm.”

“For a class you don’t care about,” Grantaire said pointedly, and sat on the edge between Enjolras’s belly and the floor, firmly pinning Enjolras to the couch back. Enjolras glared as several of the papers crunched underneath Grantaire or were dislodged from their positions on the cushions.

Grantaire leaned in and pressed a kiss to the frown, one hand sliding down Enjolras’s ribcage. Enjolras made a disapproving noise and pushed it away.

“I’m _busy_ ,” he complained.

“No, you’re petulant,” Grantaire said reasonably, pulling away a little bit. “Won’t you take fifteen minutes for yourself?” He leaned back in and trailed some kisses beneath Enjolras’s chin, feather light.

Enjolras breathed out his nose, heavy and slow. A break… would actually be nice. Especially if the way Grantaire was now sucking a stripe down his throat was any indication. “I don’t think fifteen minutes would be awful,” he said cautiously, and was rewarded with Grantaire making that happy humming noise as he nosed the space near the vein.

“Would you like to see what I could do in fifteen minutes?” Grantaire asked, lips catching on Enjolras’s stubble, the product of three days’ worth of paper writing.

“Are you going to set a timer?” Enjolras asked, setting the book heedlessly down on its place on the little end table over his head. Grantaire was already worming his hands underneath Enjolras’s shirt, moving his hands proprietorially over the skin underneath it much to Enjolras’s pleasure.

“I could,” Grantaire mumbled. “In fact, I’ll take it as a challenge.”

Enjolras made an inquisitive noise, palming the sensible denim of Grantaire’s ass in encouragement.

“Ten seconds,” Grantaire said a little breathlessly, and pulled away. “Stay right there,” he said, darting to their bedroom. Enjolras stretched out on the couch, mood already lightening; maybe he really _could_ use a break.

Grantaire was back almost as soon as the thought was finished, a slightly predatory look in his eyes when he saw how Enjolras had gone from cramped reading position to lounging comfortably. In one hand he had the half-empty tube of lubricant they were currently working through and the kitchen timer—the other stuffed something in his pants pocket before Enjolras could see what it was.

“Have I told you you are the sexiest thing to walk this earth lately?” Grantaire crooned, moving in quickly to straddle Enjolras’s hips on the couch. He quickly spun the timer’s dial to the mark at 15 and set it on top of Enjolras’s book before dropping the tube to one side in favor of putting his hands back on Enjolras. “Carved from marble, I swear. Brushwork like Rembrandt, the passion of Chopin’s _rubato_.”

“If we’ve really only got fifteen minutes stop using your mouth for words,” Enjolras rasped, tugging him down imperiously to press Grantaire’s mouth to his own.

It went like that for several minutes, a dirty and slow sweep of tongue matched by the possessive hands-on approach Grantaire always took to anything. Sometimes Enjolras theorized the man’s tactile fixation had as much to do with his work as Enjolras’s preference for the oral had with his appreciation for the spoken word. Remembering some of the times when he’d gotten Grantaire to really cut loose on curbing his babble, Enjolras shuddered, adding a nice touch to the slow grinding that had already begun.

“Mmm,” Grantaire coaxed, nimbly undoing Enjolras’s fly and tugging his jeans and underwear down past Enjolras’s knees with his customary grace. He wrapped a hand around Enjolras’s cock, proudly standing out. “Aren’t you a pretty thing?”

“Yes,” Enjolras purred as Grantaire stroked it with just the right amount of pleasure. “And it’s all for you, you know.”

Grantaire’s eyes were dark with hungry appreciation. “Is that so?” he asked hoarsely, striving for a light tone and failing.

Enjolras spread his legs as much as he was able with his pants around his ankles. “Oh definitely,” he assured the artist, who was definitely whining high in his throat. Grantaire fumbled at the lubricant without taking his eyes off of Enjolras, sloppily covering his fingers with the stuff.

“Fantastic,” he said, leaning back in to steal Enjolras’s breath as he slid one in with enough casual roughness for Enjolras to hitch a breath.

It was while Grantaire was stroking him slowly and evenly with one hand that the timer rang; Enjolras, whimpering at the three fingers destroying him from the inside out, let out an entirely involuntary noise of distress. Grantaire broke off from sucking Enjolras’s tongue down his throat to laugh a little breathlessly and let go of Enjolras’s cock to go for his pocket.

“Fifteen minutes, was that right?” he said, and curled the fingers inside Enjolras teasingly.

“N-no,” Enjolras whined, arching despite himself. Grantaire could play him like a violin, and he still wasn’t sure why but it was the best thing in all of the universe. “We can—go a little longer—”

“Mmm-mm,” Grantaire hummed in negation, and pulled his fingers out. Before Enjolras could voice a protest something else was pushing in that rapidly swelled until it fit snugly inside, a slight and familiar pressure that was just this edge of maddening.

“What—” but then Grantaire was busily pulling his jeans back up, redoing the fly and button with dexterity. “No— _Grantaire_ —”

“Fifteen minutes,” Grantaire sing-songed with a wicked grin, getting up entirely and leaving Enjolras disheveled on the couch despite the obvious erection tenting his jeans. “You’d better get back to work if you want to get this paper done on time.”

“Oh, god,” Enjolras said helplessly. “You _bastard._ ”

“You love it,” Grantaire said, and it wasn’t hard to tell he was enjoying this for all it was worth. “Maybe you’d better sit up, you’re wrecking your back studying sprawled as you are—”

Enjolras flat-out moaned as Grantaire pulled him upright, repositioning him so that the plug sat and exerted a comfortable pressure in the most distracting way. The timer’s ringing went off as soon as Grantaire switched it to the ‘0’ and tossed it into the corner, and Grantaire thoughtfully handed him the book before kissing him on the cheek and draping himself on the chair opposite the couch.

“You bastard,” Enjolras said again, with feeling, trying to collect his scattered thoughts.

“If you’re good and get a lot finished in the next half hour,” Grantaire said cheerfully, casually undoing his zipper and pulling his cock out, “I’ll be happy to give you another break.”

“No,” Enjolras breathed, completely absorbed in the lazy way Grantaire took himself in hand.

“That doesn’t look like working,” Grantaire said.

“It’s really not,” Enjolras agreed.

Grantaire sighed and luxuriated in the next slow pull, subtly arching with a flutter of his eyes. “That’s such a shame,” he purred.

Enjolras tried very hard to strangle the noises he was making. He wanted nothing more than to feel the stiffness of Grantaire inside him, and tried to resettle into his seat—but the plug shifted instead, reminding him it was there and causing him to shiver.

“Something wrong?” Grantaire asked, keeping his pace steady and his eyes locked on Enjolras.

“No,” breathed Enjolras, and turned his attention back on the book… or tried to.

It was hard. The accusations of Cicero against Gaius Verres were still long and uninteresting. The amount of artwork the governor had stolen from the Scicilians was simply tedious compared to Grantaire’s flushed face and heavy breathing as he watched Enjolras study, eyes half-mast and hands busy, and Enjolras found that his goal of writing a stellar midterm essay was becoming less and less inspirational. But Enjolras tried his best, laboring through another fifteen pages of flowery oratory and painstaking notes—trying so hard to ignore the shift of the plug inside him every time he moved and the noises Grantaire made as he quietly came between clenched teeth some time later—before Enjolras finally closed the book with a snap. He was unable to let Grantaire sit drowsing with a mess on his lap any longer, and his erection had passed from a promise to pain.

“I hate you,” he said, roughly undoing his fly and shoving a hand down his pants for relief. Grantaire smirked, heavy-lidded eyes following Enjolras’s movements with great pleasure as Enjolras sighed and ground down against the couch on the upstroke. It only took Enjolras a few more moments of being fully on display before he was neatly splattering the interior of his cupped palm, shuddering around the warm plastic plug.

Grantaire was cleaning him off before he knew it, crooning how Enjolras was lovely and studious and fantastic and brilliant as he kissed him and wiped him down. Enjolras was pliantly relaxed against the back of the couch when Grantaire gently removed the plug, neatly tucking Enjolras’s cock in and redoing the catch of his pants and leading him down to lie flat on the cushions.

“I can’t sleep for too long,” Enjolras managed to say, already starting to doze.

“I’ll set your alarm for an hour from now,” Grantaire said soothingly, and cuddled up next to him on the narrow space.

**Author's Note:**

> Gotta love porn fests with friends. Aka-- whilst drunk, opt to French titles from google translate.


End file.
